Reincarnated as Dracula’s Son

"Well, if you put it that way…" Dracula said, his voice low and smooth, a hint of amusement curling the edges of his words.

"Now for weaknesses, the sun makes me lose up to half of my powers. Also garlic and wooden stakes," Dracula said, his voice calm but edged with the weight of centuries. He leaned back in his chair, the flickering light of the bulb casting shadows across his face, giving him an otherworldly glow.

Damian sat across from him, his brow furrowed. The thought of being so easily weakened didn't surpise with him, but before he could talk, his father continued.

"This is where you have an advantage," Dracula said, his piercing gaze meeting Damian's. "The sun has very little effect on you. You'll feel slightly weaker under it, but it's so faint, you won't even notice. Garlic doesn't bother you, and wooden stakes? They mean nothing to you."

Damian raised his eyebrows, a small spark of relief flickering in his chest. "Right," he muttered. "Only silver stakes do."

"Yes," Dracula said with a slow nod, his expression darkening. "We never expected that secret to be discovered by others. But it seems the knowledge has spread."

Damian clenched his jaw, frustration bubbling beneath his calm exterior. "So, now anyone who wants me dead knows exactly how to do it?" he said, his tone laced with bitterness.

"Not anyone," Dracula replied, his voice steady but heavy. "But the wrong people know. And that is enough."

Damian let the weight of his father's words sink in. He wasn't just anyone anymore; he was Dracula's son. That name alone came with enemies, enemies who would stop at nothing to find his weaknesses.

Dracula's voice softened slightly, though his tone carried the gravity of centuries of experience. "Son, vampires are always at war with each other. It's the way of our kind. Alliances shift, grudges fester, and battles are fought in the shadows. And because of that, different vampires have different enemies."

He leaned forward, his crimson eyes locking with Damian's. "I am an original vampire, which means I have more enemies than any other vampire alive."

Damian's lips twitched into a faint smirk, though there was no humor in it. "Which means I inherit some of them."

Dracula nodded, his expression hard and resolute. "Yes. And now that they know how you can be hurt, you must be more careful than ever."

Damian's green eyes flickered with determination. He had been given this second chance at life by luck—or perhaps fate—and he wasn't about to waste it. Not now, not ever.

"Mum said you had urgent business to deal with," Damian said, hoping to steer the conversation away from his vulnerabilities. He let his words trail off, leaving the door open for his father to pick up where he had left off.

Dracula didn't disappoint. He folded his hands neatly in front of him, his expression growing graver. "There was a rebellion at Sandytown. Some of the younger vampires decided they wanted to challenge the older families. I had to step in."

Damian tilted his head slightly, curiosity flickering in his eyes. "Why would a fight between two groups of vampires require you to get involved?"

Dracula leaned forward, his tone dropping to something sharper, almost menacing. "Because the tension between vampires is higher now than it's been in centuries. The divide between the old families and the newer bloodlines grows wider every day. If I hadn't stepped in, that rebellion could have been the spark that ignited outright war."

Damian's smirk faded. This time, he understood. A war between vampires wouldn't just be a distant conflict. It would spill over into his life, threatening everything he cared about. His family, particularly his human mother, would be caught in the crossfire.

"When two elephants fight," Dracula continued, "it is the grass beneath them that suffers. If vampires across the world go to war, humans will be drawn into it. No one—human or vampire—will be safe."

Damian's mind churned with the implications. His father's power and influence could only protect them for so long. At some point, danger would come knocking, and Damian needed to be ready.

"Hmmm," Damian murmured, his voice low.

The silence between them stretched, broken only by the crackling fire. Dracula reached for the newspaper he had set aside, his movements smooth and unhurried. As if the weight of the world wasn't pressing down on his shoulders.

"Your mother told you, didn't she?" Dracula said after a moment, his tone almost casual. "That you start school tomorrow?"

"Yeah, she did," Damian replied.

"She'll drive you there," Dracula said, his eyes scanning the front page of the paper. "Max will follow behind her, to keep both of you safe."

Damian nodded, but before he could say anything, Dracula's eyes flicked up to meet his, their crimson depths locking Damian in place.

"Damian," Dracula said, his voice low and commanding. "You're half-vampire, but that doesn't make you weak. You're not some fragile target that needs protection at every turn. You're a Vlad. And we are strong."

The words hit Damian like a hammer. His father wasn't just telling him to be careful; he was setting a standard, one that Damian was expected to meet. There would be no bodyguards shadowing his every step. His father had placed that kind of protection around his human mother, but Damian was different. Dracula expected him to stand tall, to defend himself, to rise above whatever danger came his way.

Damian nodded slowly, understanding the unspoken expectations. His father wanted him to be safe, but he wasn't going to hold Damian's hand through life. That wasn't their way.